Eternalism
by Oren-Namikaze
Summary: My fault is greed, I want what I don't have the right to have...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Do I really need one for this particular vent?

**A/N**: I've challenged myself to write at least one page of whatever I'm feeling at any given moment at least once a day for a month starting today. Consider it preparation for my new career path – I really have to get the wheels of my creativity following again, and I thought this would be a good exercise. Too often I fall back on writing and lose focus or hit a mental road block and stop. It's annoying.

_Eternalism_

When we first meet I should've known, I should've known… There was a Silence that burned holes in the mold I had cast for me, no vestige that the way it burned would eventually spark the flame that Made the future unavoidable. But bend I did to the way I thought I should, and in it did the edges of My Heart splinter, cutting and burying the scars of the love I still hold a flame to, too eager in my pride and care to take the step, for there's someone I cannot dream of hurting.

Holding onto this vision of the image, the hope, that I fell so desperately into, to find the love of a searching, it clings still, beckoning on the horizon of thought and consciousness to be rekindled again. Changes that may have happened, for the better or worse of our faults and humanities, fair the trial of time as I fair the time towards the trial for the blunders I have instigated. The Judge, a reflection of a different time and place, stares and condemns with every reference to the name.

Try as I might, the will of fate has tested on me the temptations of those that were once brought against me, of those that tore the roots of my sureties and made casualties of every picture, every line that once brought me joy. It dug deep a canal that could never be satisfied and placed a fragile gatekeeper to bar the flood as the seasons bring waves of debris from the channel that once held all things dear.

Scared to be a soon-to-be, dreading the solid path of polished golden bars lined at my feet, I fall a little deeper into my what-if regrets with every step, moved by a sense of obligation, But weighted by the fact that i'm not ready to get it go. The fear of its discovery unnerves me to sleepless nights and dream-filled days. The fear of the fear of falling lost its hold on me long ago. I'd gladly let it fall to the wind and have it lead me where it does, for wherever I land, I'll take it from there.

The feeling of this longing, Over and over as The pages upon pages of words, Bittersweet memories, and Emotions collide and solidify in the saline I smell on my pillow every morning, the wrenching in the chest and the hollow in my throat as I realize your penetrations seethe and pierce even into my unconsciousness. Here, I cling to them as part of me, part of my talent, as I accept them, wield them, and yield them onto the vast expanse of nothing at me fingertips. Through them I see you.

But greed is my fault, wanting all and nothing at once. i have no reason, no rhyme for wants, but want I do. So I am human. Yet even as I bask in the taste of contentment, in the promise of a future, why do I dream of my freedom, of the past I never afforded myself? To be and act in the freely constrictive manner of my youth and sex and time. Why is it _now_ that I am beckoned?

Be Still do I plead my heart to lie as I do with my contented Love, the thoughts forced to the forefront of the battle lines that line my brow. Taking advantage of the plight that wrecks and rapes my body and mind force me, plead me forward with the strength of a new vision in which this obsession, this transgression's motivation is the medium to which a flame is kindled, the forging of these affections that lay underneath the hidden meaning , between the lines and legs of characters anew.

The closer I look, the more cracks I see, but they aren't what bother me. The gloss that hides those imperfections, those fades, grants the illusions that drive madness in the bloodlines of the sane, that set fire to their foundations and maim the psyches of their patrons. What bothers me is the voice that has found its speech in my mind, ever playing the role of You.


	2. Nightdreams

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Harry Potter or Once Upon A Time. Absolutely nothing.

A/N: getting this in quickly before bed. Good night.

Nightdreams

Sitting at home on a Friday night, sipping a glass of wine and setting out the dishes for a late midnight dinner with friends, seemed more exhausting than initially thought. On second thought, meeting my best friend's new boyfriend is quiet important – he still needed my seal of approval.

A loud knock at the door and subsequent muffled calling from the other side announced the presence of my guests, all of whom appeared to have already had a few drinks already.

"Open up, already!" muffled snickers burst through door in a shuffled jumble, the slightest smell of alcohol reaching my senses. I smiled softly, welcoming in a woman and two men, all of whom were blonde with a red tinge on their cheeks. "About time, woman! What took you so long?"

"You do realize I'm preparing food for you, right?" my curt reply fell on silent ears as they shuffled into my living room. Shoot, I had forgotten to put away my shopping spree from earlier that day - a few stacks of shoeboxes and a MacBook box lay strewn across my coffee table and couch. "Everything's on the dinner table. Who wants some wine? Beer anyone?"

"Hell yeah! Oh, by the way, time for formal introductions. Everyone, this is Ryan!" the tall blonde woman announced, excitedly gesturing towards the slightly heavy set man with five o'clock shadow. He smiled earnestly as we shook hands and headed to the dinner table.

"Dear God, love! Why on earth have you not thrown away these shoeboxes? I won't be coming home to clutter every night. After work all I want to do is come home to a clean house and relax." The last blonde, a tall slim man with his hair slicked back, stood in the living room, looking over the boxes nosily.

"And that's exactly what you'll do when you go home to _your_ house, Draco," I smiled slightly. "And besides, after true love, there is no more powerful magic than footwear, it has to be protected."

The eruption of laughter that ensued from all the parties as we sat down to enjoy our small moment of peace was the perfect beginning of the weekend. I couldn't help but smile as the laughter continued to echo throughout the night, helping ease my mind and worries from earlier that day. Draco's gay antics helped as well. I could always count on him. As for Ryan, he seemed alright. From what I gathered, I even liked him. I guess they can have my seal of approval.

"_After true love, there is no more powerful magic than footwear – it has to be protected." – Snow White (Once Upon A Time)_


	3. Seeing the Villain

Disclaimer: Again, I don't think I really need one for this one.

A/N: Day 3. It's been a somber weekend. My head is still aching.

Seeing the Villain

I'll be giving you glimpses, signs, letters, words of my inner pain, my longing. I once fell in love with a character set in your mold, your liking, but whether I was blinded by that love, or saw only what I wanted to see, I was hesitant to decipher. Young and naïve was my first love, the strongest, as it wrapped itself around my limbs, my entirety, and proceeded to split my chest open, gripping my beating heart. At first I let it, too stubborn to let go of all I had put into the Love, all that I still hoped it might be, even though the pain it caused my sanity and sense to flee. My fault was that in doing so I had become blinded to my own needs, to what needed to happen to myself before I found myself strong enough to pursue another, or return to that one, if I decided.

Now as I still here, contemplating my fate and direction, do I curse my politeness in the manner. I'm known for my hesitant and cautious nature, never jumping with my intuition, but calculating and waiting in an attempt to see if the jump is worth the scrapes I know will accumulate at my knees and palms from the falls.

I curse that I know that if I truly wanted something I should go out and get it like I do every night in my dreams. But the unknown unnerves me. To think the target of my affections might be happy and unwilling to look back at a past of chaos is enough for me to hesitate, not wanting to disturb that peace in favor of a personal whim. If that is set as the truth, I will content myself to the contentment of the pages left to me in the time we shared, and in sharing the moments alone, smiling a bittersweet smile.

So I try as I might to call out in soft whispers, willing an invisible force to perhaps serve me a favor of tugging at her intuition to pay a small attention at a meaningless writer whose works burn with the flame that lingers still.

And even as I dream of that moment, of growth that tore apart a thread that will be crossed again in the future, if fate decides, I think of the pain shared, inflicted, on the wounds made. Will the soil that used to be fertile and rich and young once again yield after the scars have been tended?

The past cannot be changed or cast away, but through letting me go, letting me grow, and seeing me back, even if the link that binds us has been altered, is more than I could hope for. The walls that were built, the lies strewn to buffer the burn, have been crumbling steadily, laying at my feet for my to witness, for the recognition of their foundations and bindings.

The light is dulling, the colors fading around me and I see it. My voice is muted by the reassurances of another, of the decisions I've once again fallen into, but why do I see myself as the villain from this side of the looking glass? I feel the cold creep into my veins more and more with each passing day, fearing the infection has spread to my heart, the fractures still fresh allowing easier inception.

The time is nearing for a decision I'd love for another to make.


End file.
